


you know better, babe (it will come back)

by BananasofThorns



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Body Horror, Dreamscapes, Foreshadowing, Gen, Parallels, Pining, Prophetic Visions, Symbolism, Time Travel, allusions to their blood pact, and/or - Freeform, i guess, i think you could say that. the gay subtext is very strong, kind of?, or something, spoilers for episode 98 and the beginning of ep 99, weird timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24806566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BananasofThorns/pseuds/BananasofThorns
Summary: “You knew, didn’t you?” Fjord asks. He doesn’t have to specify.Caleb grins. Licks of flame curl from between his sharp teeth. “Of course,” he says, like it should be obvious, and it is.
Relationships: Fjord & Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [title from It Will Come Back - Hozier]
> 
> sometimes u just gotta write weird dreamscape things and I think that's very sexy of me

When Fjord opens his eyes, he’s sitting in the crow’s nest of the _Squalleater,_ the ship still scorched from Caleb’s magic. The distant roar of the waves is steady and calming. He leans back and allows himself to get lost in the endless, cloudy sky. There’s a storm rolling in, but it hasn’t arrived yet and the sunset lights the clouds aflame in pinks and golds.

A presence appears to his right, wavering like a heatwave. He looks over, only half-surprised to see Caleb balanced on the crow’s nest railing. His damp hair flutters around his face, tendrils of tangled copper that swirl in a breeze Fjord should feel but doesn’t. He says nothing. His tunic is only half-laced and without his coat, he looks smaller. Deceptively delicate, swaying in a wind that doesn’t exist.

A flash of amber catches Fjord’s eye; half-hidden beneath Caleb’s shirt, he can just make out a chunk of amber hanging from a thin silver chain. Something about it unsettles Fjord, but he doesn’t know why. He’s never seen it before.

“What are you doing here, Caleb?” He asks, allowing his true accent to bleed through the words.

Caleb turns. For a half a second when he blinks, his eyes flash a clear, eerie crystal green. He doesn’t look surprised; if anything, his lips curl up into a faint, pleased smile, like a cat that got the cream. His arms are unwrapped for the first time that Fjord can remember. Black smoke billows from fingertip to shoulder but beneath it, Fjord can see blackened skin broken by skittering, magma-filled cracks. He looks away, back towards the rumbling sea.

“You knew, didn’t you?” He asks. He doesn’t have to specify.

Caleb grins. Licks of flame curl from between his sharp teeth. “Of course,” he says, like it should be obvious, and it is.

He raises a hand; his right, the one furthest from Fjord. The smoke clears to reveal a single slash bisecting his palm from pinky to pointer. It pulses that same, haunting green his eyes had been. Fjord hums, ignoring the thrum that has begun in his own right hand. Digging his claws into his palm, he glances at Caleb’s feet, perched like a bird on the railing. 

“It’s a long way to fall,” he comments, or maybe warns. Something in his chest flares and burns.

Caleb tilts his head, bitter and knowing. There are tear tracks on his cheeks, though it could be the rain that hasn’t started to fall. “It is, isn’t it?”

He stands just as thunder rumbles through the sky. Instinctively, Fjord uncurls his fingers and reaches out a hand to steady him. When he touches Caleb, he has a split-second to register the freezing, rain-soaked skin of his wrist.

Then he blinks and Caleb dissolves into five-petaled, baby blue flowers that are torn away by the wind. Emptiness gnaws in Fjord’s chest and he settles in to watch the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fjord is from some time after the events of Darktow, but before Dashilla's lair. The Caleb is from after the events of ep 98/early ep 99. Bold of you to assume I know what's going on in this because I Don't


	2. Chapter 2

The evening after his death, Fjord finds himself climbing to the crow’s nest, driven by some morbid sense of curiosity. Despite the fact that the  _ Balleater _ is surrounded on all sides by Empire ships, despite the fact that his friends and his crew are milling around on the deck below, a strange, empty loneliness seeps through his veins the higher he climbs. In the distance, he can see the Xhorhas fleet and its dome of night, crowned pink and gold by the thin, sunset-lit clouds.

When Fjord crests the top of the crow’s nest, he finds Caleb waiting perched on the railing, oddly birdlike in his careful posture. Instead of surprise, Fjord thinks,  _ oh, of course, _ and settles beside him. Someone has removed and replaced the bloodstained pillows, but cold nausea pools in Fjord’s chest all the same. Caleb catches his gaze, blue eyes reflecting the sunset above, and some of the panic dissipates to steam.

“What are you doing up here?” Fjord asks, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the railing to Caleb’s right.

Caleb blinks at him. Without his coat, he looks deceptively delicate, and Fjord wants to reach out a hand to steady him in the slight, drifting breeze. The amber necklace flashes beneath the half-laced collar of Caleb’s tunic. Fjord swallows and looks away; his eyes catch on the freckled, unbandaged skin of Caleb’s forearms. The last time he saw them completely covered was at some point early in their stay in Xhorhas, but the bare skin is still jarring. A chill races up Fjord’s spine at the sight of the neat, orderly scars. They’re tinged crystal green, though it could be a trick of Fjord’s eyes.

He looks back to the clouds, barely-there wisps of color.

“I should have known,” he says. He doesn’t have to specify.

Caleb hums. His hair curls in tangled tendrils around his face, copper strands lit aflame by the dying sun. “Perhaps,” he agrees, and he’s right; in hindsight, it’s obvious.

Fjord lifts his right hand, studies the way the dusk plays against the edges of the scar. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Caleb do the same. Instinct, or something else that Fjord doesn’t care to name, drives him to turn and rest their palms together. He half expects Caleb to pull away; warmth pools in his chest when he doesn’t.

Caleb laces their fingers together and squeezes once before he pulls away. His hand is cool and smooth, even with the scar bisecting his palm.

“It’s a long way to fall,” he muses, or maybe mourns, glancing over his shoulder.

Fjord smiles, bitter and knowing. “It is, isn’t it?”

Caleb tilts his head to meet Fjord’s gaze. Now that the sun has sunk further into the waves, his eyes are a dangerously deep blue that Fjord feels he could drown in. Caleb’s fingertips brush against his wrist; only then does he realize he’s been digging his claws into his palm hard enough to break skin. Caleb pries his fingers open, gentle, and drops a few flowers into the smeared blood.

“Where did you get these?” Fjord asks, lifting a hand to study the blossoms. There’s something achingly familiar about the clusters of five baby-blue petals.

“They aren’t real,” Caleb says, pressing his thumb to Fjord’s palm. The flowers dissolve into arcane mist that seeps into Fjord’s skin. “Simply an illusion.”

He leans forward, stepping gracefully off the railing and into the crow’s nest itself. Emptiness gnaws in Fjord’s chest, lessened by the warm press of Caleb’s shoulder against his. They settle in to watch the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know when you get deja vu but it's for something that you _think_ was a dream but you're not sure? yeah


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if this chapter had a title, it would be _honey, that's how it sleeps_. if this fic had a different title, it would be from Sedated by Hozier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this bitch just keeps GROWING. it was supposed to be a 500-word oneshot based around a single mental image I'd had of Caleb, but now we're Here
> 
> anyway. here's Caleb's POV of the first two chapters

No one wants to sleep after Fjord’s death, but when they gather in the Hut, Caleb can see the weight of the night sinking into everyone’s bones. His own body feels heavy with exhaustion, but he knows he won’t sleep. His fingers still tingle with arcane residue that leaps like lightning between the scars on his arms. 

One by one, he watches the others, even Fjord, drift off. It’s hours later before the last of them falls asleep. His internal clock tells him it’s nearing sunrise. He can hear the crew bustling around above, but it’s dark beneath them in the Hut. Surrounded by the slow, even breathing of his friends, he feels locked in some faux-secure, liminal space. The leftover magic from the battle taps across his arms like needles.

Slowly, he stands. It’s careful, precarious work to tiptoe through the group, but it doesn’t take long before he’s beside Fjord at the center of the Hut. Silently, he settles cross-legged at the half-orc’s head. He opens his component pouch and pulls out the materials he’ll need: a glass vial filled with a handful of residuum dust, a small well of ink, and a simple quill made from the feather of a sleeping raven. 

He only hesitates a moment before resting his fingers on Fjord’s temple. Frissons of arcane residue shiver through Caleb’s bones and down to his fingertips. He closes his eyes, murmuring the verbal components of the spell under his breath so he doesn’t disturb the others. If anyone wakes, they don’t interrupt him, and the incantation has barely finished before he’s drawn into Fjord’s dreams. 

The feeling of it is oddly familiar, an echo of when he’s studied the Beacon.

+++

Caleb opens his eyes, wavering slightly as he gets his bearings on the crow’s nest railing. Fjord is waiting beside him, elbows against the railing as he watches the waves. Caleb glances down, almost but not quite surprised to see the scorched deck of the _Squalleater;_ his own work, though it feels like so long ago.

For this Fjord, it was yesterday.

“What are you doing here, Caleb?” Fjord asks, his real accent breaking through the low, calming rush of the waves.

Caleb looks at him; when he blinks, Fjord in the Cinderrest Sanctum with blood still staining the front of his shirt overlays this Fjord, fresh from Avantika. Caleb smiles, briefly, and wonders at the fact that even this early in the game, Fjord’s subconscious would trust him enough to divulge his secret.

Fjord’s eyes flick to the unbandaged skin of Caleb’s forearms; discomfort flashes briefly across his face. He turns back towards the sea. Caleb wonders what he sees, or if it's different; to him, the scars have split, crystals regrown like they were never gone.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Fjord asks. He doesn’t have to specify.

Caleb bares his teeth against the memory of a scream. _We understand each other._ “Of course,” he says, because it should be obvious. He raises his right hand.

The single slash that bisects his palm from pinky to pointer splits. As Caleb watches with detached horror, familiar green crystals begin to poke through the bloody skin of his hands. He swallows down his nausea. Fjord hums, subconsciously digging his claws into his own right hand; for now, the skin is still unblemished. He looks at Caleb’s feet, then down towards the burned deck, then back to sea.

“It’s a long way to fall,” he says. His tone hitches, rough and confused.

Caleb swallows, bitter and knowing. He thinks he may be crying. “It is, isn’t it?”

Thunder rumbles through the darkening clouds. Caleb stands, unafraid of the fall but mildly curious nonetheless. Fjord reaches out to steady him; his hand is so warm it nearly burns the crystalized skin of Caleb’s forearm.

A raven feather appears in Caleb’s fist. With one last glance at this unknowing Fjord, he slashes it through the air and steps forward.

The dream ends.

+++

When Caleb opens his eyes, the only people still in the Hut are him, Fjord, and Caduceus. His arms ache; now, instead of overflowing with magic, his veins feel dry and empty. He glances down. Fjord is still asleep, his face lax. Caleb pulls his hands away and turns to his spell components before he does something he’ll regret.

The raven feather quill has turned to ash; Caleb absently brushes it off his leg. The glass vial is empty and the inkwell has run dry. He picks them up and tucks them both into his component pouch. Slowly, he stands and meets Caduceus’s eyes.

The firbolg’s gaze is heavy but not judgemental, simply curious and knowing in a way that Caleb ignores. “I can watch him, Mister Caleb,” he assures.

Caleb nods; still, his movement stutters at the edge of the Hut. He glances back down to Fjord’s face, then to his chest. The jagged scar is hidden by his shirt, already mostly healed by the Wildmother’s magic, but the bloody sight of it is seared into Caleb’s mind. He forces himself to turn away and exit the room. The Hut dissolves; Caleb closes the door behind him with weary hesitance.

The sun is high in the sky when he emerges onto the deck of the ship. He steps forward, unsure of where he’ll end up, and jumps when Jester appears to his left. When he looks down, Veth has materialized at his right. She smiles up at him, and he grins back a half-second too slow.

“Cay-leb,” Jester sings, looping her arm through his. She skips off towards the bow of the ship, pulling Caleb along with her.

He blinks, stumbling a bit. “Hallo, Jester.” He looks down. “Hallo, Veth.”

Beau is waiting for them, arms crossed. Caleb has the sudden, sinking sensation that he’s being pulled into a conversation he would rather not have. Yasha catches his eye, quietly apologetic, and Caleb looks away.

“You slept late,” Beau says, scrutinizing and far-too-knowing.

Caleb slips his arm from Jester’s, desperately wishing for his coat despite the heat. He settles for crossing his arms behind his back, ignoring the psychosomatic tingling in the scars and the phantom hand on his neck.

“Ja, it was a very exhausting night,” he agrees. Beau snorts; not at the statement, because it’s true, but at Caleb’s weak deflection.

“What were you doing to Fjord, Caleb?” Jester asks, leaning forward. Curious, not accusatory, but Caleb recoils nonetheless.

“I—”

“Your eyes were glowing,” Yasha murmurs, soft, but the words cut through Caleb like she’d used her sword. Her gaze is solemn when she meets Caleb’s eye. “So were your arms.”

“It was really weird,” Jester agrees. Beau nods, eyes narrowed like she’s solving a puzzle and its picture is one that she hates.

“I—” Caleb starts again, but the words stick in his throat.

Veth reaches up and pries his hands away from his arms; he hadn’t even realized he’d been digging his nails in. “You looked like you were in pain when you came up,” she says. Her touch is light and warm. “Are you okay? Do you need Jester to heal you?”

Caleb clears his throat. “Nein, I— I am just tired,” he assures. Then, “I was helping Fjord sleep.”

Neither statement is a complete lie; they’re simple-half truths stitched together into an explanation that looks more like an excuse. Beau nods slowly, uncrossing her arms. She steps forward and around Caleb, patting him almost-gently on the shoulder as she passes. He fixes his eyes on the horizon and doesn’t watch her go.

“Don’t do anything stupid, Widogast,” she calls over her shoulder. He huffs a laugh, lips twitching into a smile that barely makes it past his mouth.

+++

The afternoon passes in a half-daze that threatens to suffocate Caleb in terrible, monotonous memories. As dusk settles over the ocean like a gauzy veil, he finds himself waiting in the crow’s nest. It’s instinct, or something like misplaced hope. He perches birdlike on the railing, his body moving before his mind can catch up.

Fjord appears minutes later, the first time Caleb has seen him since he left him to Caduceus. He greets Caleb with an empty smile and settles with his back against the railing to Caleb’s right. Caleb watches him to avoid looking at the Empiric and Xhorhasian fleets.

“What are you doing up here?” Fjord asks, loosely crossing his arms over his chest.

Caleb blinks at him, studying lines on his face and the exhausted slump of his shoulders. Fjord meets his eyes for a half-second before looking down; the scars crawl on Caleb’s skin. He breathes a sigh of terrible relief when Fjord turns back to the sunset-painted sky.

“I should have known,” Fjord says, anger threading the words. He doesn’t have to specify.

Caleb hums, squinting at Fjord through the hair blowing in his face. “Perhaps,” he agrees. But no one elses realized, either. Not until it was too late. In hindsight, it’s obvious.

Fjord lifts his right hand. Caleb mirrors him, almost instinctively, frowning at the thin, simple scar. Fjord presses their palms together; Caleb’s mind stutters for the split-second it takes him to welcome the warmth. Something in his chest loosens in comfortably unsurprised acceptance. He laces their fingers and squeezes once. The emotions bubbling in his chest threaten to drown him, so he pulls away.

“It’s a long way to fall,” Caleb muses around a retroactive scream. He sways easily with the breeze, unafraid of the fall. His fingers brush against the raven feather in his pocket anyway, the Feather Fall incantation resting clumsily on his tongue. 

Fjord chuckles, humorless and bitterly knowing. “It is, isn’t it?”

Caleb tilts his head. Fjord’s claws are digging into his palm hard enough to draw blood, but he seems oblivious to the crimson staining his fingers. Caleb reaches down and gently pries his fist open. After a second’s hesitation, he casts Prestidigitation and drops a handful of five-petaled flowers into Fjord’s palm.

The blossoms are impossibly blue in the fading light, painted with memories of a happy childhood stained by ash. Caleb has never learned their name is Common; all he knows is his mother whispering _“Vergissmeinnicht”_ with a smile on her lips.

Fjord lifts a hand to study the flowers. “Where did you get these?” He asks, like he’s trying to remember something but he doesn’t know what.

“They aren’t real,” Caleb explains, pressing his thumb to the illusionary petals. They dissolve into Fjord’s palm. “Simply an illusion.”

“Ah,” Fjord says.

Caleb leans forward, tipping into the crow’s nest. He pauses, then settles against Fjord’s shoulder. Whether he’s grounding himself or Fjord, he doesn’t know. Warmth seeps through his arm, soothing the dull thrum of the scars. He tilts his head up to the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The spell Caleb uses is [Dream](https://roll20.net/compendium/dnd5e/Dream#content) with a few alterations. The spell doesn't say anything about being able to influence/enter past dreams, but it also doesn't say anything about _not_ being able to do that, so. I figured with Caleb's studies of dunamancy and time shit and the Beacon, he'd be able to do it  
> Also, technically, the dreamscapes with Dream would be the same for both dreamers, but where's the fun in that?


End file.
